Silent Vigil
by equine02
Summary: Kirby wakes after an injury to find his comrades there...
1. Waking

**This is for a prompt by Churchlady63, so I hope you think I did a good job! The guys in this fic do too, because they want all this torture to be for a reason…. You know what I mean. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Kirby understands :) (I think he does...)**

 **Disclaimer: Honestly? Need I say more?**

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First of all, there was pain. Nothing but it, surrounding him, squeezing his lungs so that each breath was short and uncomfortable. He coughed, shifting with the oncoming agony that followed. His ribs were going to snap any minute… unless they already were broken, which was more than possible.

"S'rge?" he whispered into the darkness. Someone, but not the Sarge, placed their hand on Kirby's forehead. The hand was calloused, but not from holding a gun, he could tell. From holding a scalpel, and dying soldier's hands. There was a grunt as the owner of the hand stood and walked away.

Kirby opened his eyes to slits. The air felt so still and hot. Why him, every time?

He remembered something inside of him lighting up with adrenaline, what seemed like only minutes before. That kind of fire felt good, the kind that burned out fear…it was a good pain, like massaging sore muscles.

Soon he had been running, BAR still giving its full burden to him, but he didn't care. His hands and feet moved without him knowing it, and he had pulled the pin from the grenade and was hurling it far beyond himself before he knew what was happening.

Then he was here. If he hadn't been flat on his back, he could have been sure someone just shoved their fist into his midsection. Through it, in fact. Slowly, he turned his head to see what else lay beyond his cot. To his left, a man sat half-propped against the wall, a deadened cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth as he stared at nothing. His eyes were the eyes of a dead man who looked no longer upon a world like this one. _Shock,_ Kirby diagnosed. Next to that man, the cot was empty, but evidence of a former occupant showed clearly by the bloodstains. Kirby cringed and gagged at the sight, looking away quickly.

Turning fully to his right with slow caution, the BAR man blinked in surprise at the nearness of a hip. He looked beyond it and saw a slumped figure. Sarge, maybe. Yes, it was him. Through bleary eyes he noted to camouflage helmet resting in the Sergeant's lap, and the wild dirty-blonde hair, the only thing evident of the Sarge's head; his chin was tucked against his chest in a silent slumber. Kirby gazed at the other person, whose hip was right next to his head. Right away he saw the red cross on the arm; the soft expression of nearly unconscious rest had fallen upon the features of the southern medic. Doc's chest rose and fell lightly as he lay slumped against the wall, on the edge of Kirby's own cot. The wounded soldier let out an involuntary sigh, and began to close his bleary eyes. He wasn't alone; he didn't remember falling into the hands of sleep…. But he knew he belonged there.

One last, faint smile etched its way onto his face, before he surrendered his consciousness.

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 **Hope you all liked it! Sorry it's so short :( Please R &R, and if anybody wants a sequel and/or has a prompt for me, shoot a pm or review my way! I love hearing from you guys, and of course, so does poor Kirby, who I must say, is tortured in so many fics, I'm surprised he is still alive.**


	2. The Comrades

**Sequel time! You guys are so lucky! Everybody gets a sequel, and on the same day I posted the original. Okay, so here we have the next little part, this will probably be the last for this story because I have two others I am pitifully neglecting. (for the readers of "Kindness of Strangers" and "Dance with me," I will be updating soon, don't despair!)**

 **Okay, so I haven't been watching enough Combat, and I don't know very much about the army or WWII, which is why my technical terms are awful, just wanted to put that by you. I hope to take a history class that covers that subject this year, so everybody, hang on while I get all my history and technical terms in order, and pretty soon I'll be writing books! Yay! Okay, now on to this story, I hope you guys like it, please drop me a review if you do, even a five second one, every review counts. It is my food:-)**

 **Disclaimer: Not yet, but someday….. (No really, I could buy the idea, write a "Combat, the next generation…. It would be great. Anybody want to pitch in? LOL) (But seriously. That would be amazing, am I right?)**

Doc woke first, startling, and almost falling over on Kirby's head. The private was sleeping, and Doc gently slid off the bed so he was kneeling next to it. He picked up Kirby's wrist and felt his pulse. Steady-well, steady enough for having been busted up as bad as he'd been. He'd taken multiple pieces of shrapnel to the side, and he was badly concussed. Doc relaxed into a more comfortable position on the floor, and then closed his eyes. His back was against the tent wall, and he was afraid of falling asleep and stressing the fabric or falling through it- that was the only thing that kept him awake. Eventually, Saunders began to wake.

"Mornin' Sarge."

"Doc," Saunders stretched and shook his head to clear it, "How's Kirby?"

"He's doing fine. I din'int give him any morphine, just that last dose before I… well, before I fell asleep. He's so tuckered out, he'd just sleepin' it off."

"Ohh," the Sarge rolled his neck and it gave a satisfying crack, "I think a bed would feel good right about now."

"You bet- hey, here comes Caje and Littlejohn." Doc stood up quickly.

"Hey! How's the wounded soldier?" Caje strode quickly across the space between them, doffing his helmet to a nurse on the way.

"Well, he's sleepin', but I think he's gonna be okay." Doc smiled, "What about you? Did any one of you sleep last night?"

"Well, we would have but I think Kirby's voice was ringing through our heads all night, complaining." Littlejohn grinned. "I'm glad he's gonna be okay."

"Well, he's not out of the woods yet." Another voice entered the conversation.

"Doctor," Saunders stood up too.

"Sergeant. You've got yourself a fighting man here. I think he's going to be just fine, flirting with the ladies," Caje jested. The doctor gave his own grim smile and walked away. "Speaking of which…." Caje let his gaze lock on to a nurse who strode by, flaunting her uniform and smiling shyly.

Littlejohn followed, and soon the both of them were walking after her. Sarge shook his head. "I'd better go report to Lieutenant Hanley." Saunders stood up and made like he was about to walk away, when Doc stopped him.

"Sarge I think he's waking up."

"Yeah? How can you tell?"

"His fingers twitched, and sometimes that means-"

The BAR man began to stir and his face immediately contorted in pain. "Ohh, Sarge, I feel like I got hit with an aero-plane," he mumbled. "Did I get hit by an aero-plane?"

"Yup, its Kirby all right."

"But really, Sarge, this is awful." Kirby gasped.

"Alright, I'll give you some morphine," Doc suggested.

"But Doc-"

"Too late." Doc injected the clear liquid. Kirby cringed. Sarge smiled and sauntered off to report. Doc looked down at his patient, patting the man's shoulder.

"Don' worry, Kirby. I'll be here when you wake up."

And Kirby knew he would.

 **Well, there you have it. Hope you enjoyed reading this, and don't worry, I'll be updating my other fics soon. Au Revoir, mon ami's!**


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